Contemplating Roethke

I feel what I cannot fear.

Things I cannot see I see once more.

I think by feeling, yet deny thought,

and flicker—off, on, off, on, and ponder

filaments in low wattage bulbs

controlled by broken switches.

I fear what I cannot feel.

Things which I have seen, I feel no more;

a strange fashion of forsaking,

not in entire forgetfulness.

The lips, the hands, the heart, the mind,

walk behind, as they do in darkness,

to blend their charm and hue,

devoid of tears, of fire, of love;

a grotesque mask of death

controlled by broken switches.

Off, on, off, on.

I fear what I cannot fear.

I feel what I cannot feel.

Things I cannot see I feel once more

passionately—fragile and tender.

Then everything falls apart.

Keith E Sparks Jr